


Leaving Bespin

by Falcon_Etti



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Adjusting, Anxiety, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:01:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28695108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falcon_Etti/pseuds/Falcon_Etti
Summary: The flight back to the fleet from Bespin. Leia struggles to come to terms with Han's absence. They all try to find their place in this new dynamic.
Relationships: Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	Leaving Bespin

Leia tried taking a nap once they were safely in hyperspace and Luke was back in the med bunk but it didn’t last long. Her nerves were shot but at least she’d stopped crying. It was comforting to be in their cabin—surrounded by his smell, his clothes—but also a reminder he was gone. It was painful to even think of it as their cabin. It was their shared space that they no longer shared. 

She found everyone in the lounge. Chewie was still rooting through a box of circuits he’d been pretending to organize since leaving Bespin. Lando was at one end of the bench and Luke, wrapped in a blanket, was tucked into the middle. 

“It was an off-hand comment. A suggestion. You’re blowing this out of proportion.” Lando held his hands up like he was surrendering. 

“What’s going on?” Her voice sounded raspy, exhausted, like she’d been screaming. She didn’t remember a nightmare but anything was possible. 

[He wants to fix things!]. Chewie waved an arm at Lando. [And not the things that are broken.]

“Leia, he’s jumping to conclusions. I casually, and I mean casually, mentioned that the leather on the pilot chairs was worn.” 

“You’re not touching anything on this ship, Lando.” Her voice was stern, unwavering.

[That’s what I told him. But you were nicer about it.]

While the two of them argued, Luke watched. The meds and trauma were likely clouding his brain and this strange man sitting next to him and arguing with Chewie must be adding to his confusion. She told Luke what had happened when they first pulled him inside the ship but he was in shock, mumbling about Vader as the painkillers set in. Who knew how much he retained? 

“Why are you up?” Leia sat beside Luke, putting a hand to his forehead to test for a fever. “You look terrible.” 

“Too kind.” His voice was weak but he attempted a smile. Most of the colour had drained from his face and there were dark circles under his eyes. She felt something weighing him down, something more than his obvious injuries, which were significant all on their own. 

He told her he was hurt during his confrontation with Vader but he had yet to reveal many details other than his hand and his lightsaber were lost. She still didn’t know where he had been for the past month or how he found them on Bespin. 

“Apparently, you’re in charge.” He was trying to connect, to say something distracting. 

“Sorry?” 

“The Falcon. Everything?”

She smiled. “Oh, Luke. I’ve always been in charge. Didn’t you know?” 

“Trust me, if I had plans to fix things that need fixing, it would be a long list. This ship,” Lando waved a hand around to indicate everything around them. “This ship used to be white, you know. Pristine.” 

[You’ve never worked a day in your life. A working ship gets dirty.]

Leia pressed her fingertips into the bruises on her wrists and forearms. The slight ache reminded her of his body, his touch, his strength. She noticed Luke watching her and she pulled her sleeves down to cover the marks. She knew there was little she could do to hide the bruises and nips along her neck and collarbone. Han’s old pullover was so big on her that it practically fell of her shoulders. Yet, somehow, it still felt like a second skin. 

Luke didn’t ask about the bruises. She wondered if he thought they were the result of torture or brutal prison guards. Or if he understood the truth. It was also entirely possible that none of it registered with him and she was simply caught in his field of vision. 

“Is there anything to drink?” Lando seemed to be talking for talking’s sake. He was filling a void, trying to keep the space cluttered to distract from Han’s absence. 

[Now you want to drink his alcohol?]

Lando threw his hands in the air again. That seemed to be his go-to motion. “Chewie, I understand you’re angry. I’d be angry at me, too. But honestly, it’s not my fault.”

“You really need to try a new tactic. ‘Not my fault’ is getting a bit tired.” She levelled her gaze at him. 

“And I’m here to help now and that has to count for something.” 

Leia really didn’t know what to think about Lando or this situation. Did she trust him? She had a bad feeling about going to Bespin that proved correct. He betrayed them to the Empire and Boba Fett. But he was also the reason they escaped and he seemed determined to help them now. 

Han said, more than once, that he didn’t trust him but called Lando a friend. Maybe it explained Han’s constant wariness around people. He came from a world where someone might double cross you but you’d still have drinks with them. She didn’t understand Han’s relationship with Lando. There was so much posturing between the two men that she half expected them to bash chests to assert dominance. 

They had no luggage when they landed on Cloud City because they, as Han put it, ‘Left the last place in a bit of a hurry.’ Lando arranged to have clothes delivered to their suite. He stepped back to assess her, correctly guessed her size, and made a call. Leia saw Han was bothered by this flex but said nothing. He was on his best behaviour because they needed Lando to fix the ship and then accept Han’s promise to repay him someday. 

The suite Lando provided was beautiful and excessive. Walls of windows looked out on a vista of colourful clouds. The main room was equipped with pristine white furniture, modern art, and a full bar of expensive liquor. Lando stood close to her while pointing out all the features, directing her gaze with his hand resting on her back. He leaned in to talk to her like he was revealing a secret for her ears only. He was trying to impress her, show up his success against Han. All of this compared to a man who arrived in a rundown ship and on the run. 

Whenever Han thought Lando was too close, he took her hand and gently pulled her away. Then Lando found something else to highlight and the routine started again. Tiring of it, Leia walked off a few paces to look out the window. She needed to collect her thoughts, to try quelling the anxiety she’d felt since landing. She heard Han say, “Look, this one isn’t a game” and it made her heart skip a beat. 

“We should have a drink.” Lando offered them a glass of very expensive and hard to find whisky that Han accepted right away. 

“Leia, you should take this opportunity to enjoy something as rare and as exceptional as you.” He was using his most slick, most salesman voice. “I’m sure this old pirate has tried to convince you his Corellian swill is good but the best you can afford isn’t necessarily the best there is.” 

Rather than accept the glass Lando offered her, Leia took Han’s. With one hand on his hip, she sipped. Lando continued to talk, something about bottles of reserve, missing casks, found stashes, but Han wasn’t listening. He watched her drink then hand back his glass, holding her gaze, letting her know there was only her. 

“What’s going to happen when we reach your fleet?” Lando leaned across the table.

“There’s a good chance you’re headed for the brig,” she said. “My priority is getting Luke to the med centre. They’ll probably want to examine me, too. Then we will all face debriefs. I’m guessing yours will be rather intense.”

“I can take it.” Lando crossed his legs. He tried to appear nonchalant. “The Rebel Alliance can’t be worse than Crimson Dawn. Or Black Sun.” 

“You keep impressive company.”

Lando smiled. Leia felt certain he took that as a compliment. 

“Have you contacted the fleet? When’s the last time you talked to them?” Luke pulled the blanket tighter. He really should be in the med bunk with an IV. 

“We shouldn’t be going back to your fleet at all,” Lando said. “The trail’s already gone cold. The Falcon should be heading to Tatooine now.” 

“We’re needed back there.” Leia looked down. “Luke needs medical attention now. We need to check on the Falcon’s repairs and make sure everything is in good working order.”

She wanted to rush after Boba Fett but knew they needed help first. They needed to regroup. And she needed to check in with the Alliance because who knows what happened while they were gone.

“My people fixed her. She’s working perfectly now.”

[The droid fixed the hyperdrive. We’d be goners if we left it to your people.] 

Lando’s people. His guards helped the stormtroopers deliver them to a jail cell. They kept watch outside their door. While they didn’t participate in the torture, they did nothing to stop it. Han was placed on a torture grid but asked no questions. She was forced to watch him writhe and scream in pain. That seemed to be a fallback for Vader. Make her watch while people she loved suffered. 

Back in the cell, Han was exhausted, defeated. He punched Lando but ended up with broken ribs thanks to the guards. He winced in pain when she tried leaning into him for comfort so they sat facing each other, legs crossed. 

“You need to know, I need you to know,” Han tucked hair behind her ear. “I don’t say things as much or like I should…”

“Stop it.” She pushed his hand away. “Stop saying things like you’re going to die! Like I’m never going to see you again!” 

“Leila.” 

“We still have time to get away. We’ll think of something.”

He kissed the bruises along her wrists. 

“We can figure something out with Fett and Jabba.” Her voice quivered, tears pooling. “We knew you had to deal with your debt.” 

“It’s no longer on my terms. I’m not surrendering, trying to pay it back. It was bad enough before but it’s all Jabba now. He likes his revenge and power.” 

“You can still negotiate. Offer the Falcon. I know that’s what you planned on doing.” 

“It was one of the options.” 

“See? We have options.” 

He kissed her softly, holding her face with both hands. 

She pressed her bruises, trying to summon his touch again. Holding her hands in her lap, she pushed on her thighs, feeling her own weight. 

She thought about her first flight on the Falcon. Another time when Luke was broken and wrapped in a blanket. The first time she held a hand to his forehead and offered comfort. Then, he was lost in the pain of losing Ben Kenobi, a person he hoped would be his mentor, help him learn about his father and teach him the ways of the Jedi. A man he had, in fact, only known a couple of days. Still, Luke had clearly been in pain and Leia’s first instinct, especially in a crisis and, in particular when she was in crisis, was to take care of things. She was only hours away from her own execution when they rescued her. She survived torture at the hands of Vader and an interrogation droid. She witnessed her home planet destroyed by the Death Star. She desperately needed to gain control of the situation and set things right. 

Luke did not have the same response. Not on that first flight. He didn’t try to comfort her, acknowledge her loss, her pain. He offered the occasional strained smile but she suspected that was more to let her know he would be alright then to check in on her. 

Han didn’t express sympathy or even go so far as to ask how she was doing, either. But he put a glass of whisky in front of her saying, “You might need this.” He got her some food. Bugged her to eat the food. Threw a blanket and a pillow beside her in case she wanted it. He handed her a med kit saying, “I know what they do there. Chewie can help, if you, you know, need help reaching or whatever. He looks like a big hairy oaf but he’s a pretty good nurse maid. All that tree-hugging, nature stuff, I guess.” 

She understood now that it was Han’s way of saying, I see you. He was paying attention even though he would never acknowledge it. For Luke, Han made him snap to attention. Do things around the ship. Not wallow. He was trying to find the mix of spurring Luke into action and stopping her from spinning out of control. 

Why did it take her so long to see past Han’s gruff exterior? Why didn’t she notice his actions over his words? The truth was always there. She chose not to see it. 

“And what happened to the sound system?” Lando gestured to the other side of the lounge. “That was an expensive system. Top of the line.” 

[He got a good price for it.]

“Then replaced it with what? Does any of that work?” 

Leia opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of whisky. She got glasses and sat back down.

“Only Han can figure it out,” Luke said. “Think that’s so he’s in charge of what’s played.”

“Luke?” She held the bottle over a glass and poured when he nodded his head. She pushed the glass toward him. 

“This whole lounge was designed around that system.” Lando was almost mumbling. “Perfect sound anywhere in this room.”

“Is that the card you’re playing right now?” She poured and passed a glass to Chewie. “Insulting the Falcon? Or were you trying to insult her captain?” 

“Neither.” He sounded genuine. “Honest. Just thinking out loud.”

Luke’s eyes focused on her. “What are you wearing?” He was sipping his whisky, trying to not wince when he moved.

“What are you talking about?” She poured another glass for herself with perhaps a tad more than she gave the others. “I’ve always had this sweater. You’ve seen it dozens of times.” She winked at Luke in a way that would make her Corellian smuggler proud. 

Luke reached for her hand. “We’ll get him back.” He smiled at her, trying to instill confidence. A difficult task when you look drained, feverish, and had recently lost a hand. “You’re the strongest person I know. You can withstand anything.” 

She smiled back at him. He was being kind, trying to comfort her, but still wasn’t truly seeing her. Luke couldn’t see, didn’t understand, what she needed in that moment. 

It took them a few tries during their long sub-light flight to Bespin but Han and Leia learned how best to respond to her bouts of grief and anxiety. When she woke up from a nightmare or suddenly remembered something that devasted her and she couldn’t keep it inside. 

She had long suspected that allowing herself to experience the good emotions—to open herself up to love and desire—the more difficult ones would follow. They came in waves but they could be tidal. She might be gripped by anxiety, anger or fear. She paced, cried, pushed him away. Insisted she couldn’t do it, couldn’t do anything, that it was all her fault. 

He realized it wasn’t a problem he could solve. The best he could do was catch her if she fell. “It’s okay if you can’t do it, if you don’t feel strong enough right now. I’ve got you.” She didn’t have to carry everything all the time. She would find her strength again and everything would be okay until then. 

Or maybe she woke up with a start, crying or even screaming, and needed to be reminded where she was and that the Death Star was long gone. He placed a hand on her lower back, his palm spread wide. “Feel that? You’re right here. You’re with me.” 

How could she explain this to Luke? That his kindness, his gentle consoling, his attempt to rally her spirits, only reminded her of what she was missing. The person she was missing. She squeezed Luke’s hand, acknowledged his attempt with a smile but thought about Han and the space he left behind. 

Han wanted it tender, slow. He sat on the edge of the bed in their Cloud City suite as she stood in front of him between his legs. He slowly undid the buttons on her jumper, pushing back the material and down her arms. He took his time, kissing each piece of exposed flesh, slowly licking her nipples while cupping her breasts. 

But she could feel the rising panic. The Falcon would probably be fixed by morning and then this trip, their time together, was over. He would be gone. He promised he’d come back, that he’d try to come back, but there were no guarantees. She’d had nightmares leading up to Bespin, an insistent sense of danger. She tried to convince herself it was about him leaving but it felt like something else, something more. Cloud City did not feel safe. 

She put her hand on the back of his head. “I want you to fuck me.” She pulled his hair, not too hard but enough to tell him she didn’t want tender. She wanted fast, loud, hard. She wanted no space for intruding thoughts or worries about what’s next. She wanted it to be only them, their bodies, their desires. She needed to feel him needing her, wanting her. 

He changed positions, pushing her down on the bed and swiftly removing their clothes. He pinned her wrists, held her down to push her to the edge of ecstasy, past the point of desire. Let her go when she needed to take control again. There was an urgency, a desperation to their love making, a need to give in and possess at the same time. They nipped, bit, pressed too hard. Yet she still demanded he move faster, harder. He responded to every call, every moan, trying to satisfy her, trying to take push back the emotional pain they both feared with physical pain and pleasure. He demanded, “Say you’re mine!” She complied over and over. 

After, when they were both out of breath, flushed and sore, he moved to pull out and roll off her, but she held him in place. “Stay here.” She wanted to feel the weight of his body on hers. His warmth, strength, love as long as possible. 

Leia held the whisky bottle over the last glass and looked at Lando. 

“Please,” he said. She poured, much less than the other glasses, and pushed it toward him. “Thank you.” 

Lando held up his glass to toast but said nothing. They all lifted theirs in salute and everyone drank. Leia tried, unsuccessfully, to hold the tears back. 

She wasn’t looking for a distraction anymore. She wanted to feel the anger, her grief. She wanted to acknowledge her pain, that she missed him. No more pretending she didn’t care about him or that they weren’t together. Denying this truth would be like denying Han, their love, that she was going to get him back. 

He wasn’t there to hold her pieces together if she fell apart. But she could hear him. She could feel him. She would use his strength if hers felt lacking. It would hold her up until she was ready to carry it again on her own. 

She felt a surge, something that she hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe since before she lost Alderaan. She believed anything was possible but then she experienced incomprehensible loss. Fought battles, won some, lost many. Lost colleagues and friends, resources, and faith. She kept hope but she understood limitations and too often she felt the galaxy closing in on them. Maybe she’d be given only so many changes. 

And yet, she could feel things opening up again. A renewal of energy, opportunities and hope. 

She was going to get Han back. Then they were going to win this damn war.


End file.
